Descendants of the Past
by RandomDalmatian326
Summary: A Knight who doubts his skills and tries to protect the Prince; a Prince with no memories of his past; a Noblewoman with a horrible secret... And a Dancer with dire circumstances. Will these four make an alliance and help Kinkan Kingdom? Or will they die trying to fight Fate? Who pulls the strings, and is everything as simple as it seems?
1. Akt 1: The Curtain Rises

"_Love is a fearsome power; however it is but a double-edged sword."_

-x-

There is a legend about a servant woman who fell in love with a powerful Prince. He was always the target of assassins, and each time he escaped he almost died. After years of her painful love, she made a deal with a witch who gave her powers to protect the Prince in exchange for her blood. The witch warned the girl that she must hide her identity, or else the spell would be broken, and she would die a violent, painful death. She also warned that every time the girl used her powers, more blood would fill the vial. And when the bottle was full, she would die.

The woman did not care about her circumstances, only that of her beloved. Every time her masked identity would save him, he would ask for her name, but she would disappear into the shadows: only to come again when he needed her most.

Finally, when the woman was close to death, she removed her mask and told the Prince of her identity. The Prince rejected her immediately for they were of different classes, and she threw herself off the castle wall: towards a violent, painful death.

If death finds us no matter what, how would you choose to die?

-x-

Fakir's breath was labored, but he was determined. His heartbeat was loud, drumming in his ears; and the sweat poured down his body in bucket loads. His black hair with the slightest greenish tint was tied up and out of his face, and his expression was a permanent scowl. He was concentrated at the task at hand, and even though it had been hours, and his body was heavy, he continued. He slashed, parried, blocked, and tried to breathe even. With each stroke, his sword became heavier in his hand, but he had to win.

"Again!" Karon commanded, to his son and protégé. His brown hair was matted with sweat and grease, but his eyes were shining. He was a knight who could no longer fight because of his age; however, he trained his adoptive son to be one.

They had been fighting for hours, doing drills and battling each other's intellect.

But his son had lost again.

Fakir, already beaten to near death, again readied his sword. Sure, Karon had many wounds, plenty of bruises, but he wasn't nearly as beaten as Fakir. That was probably because though Fakir was practiced, his endurance still wasn't as much as Karon would have liked.

To anyone else, the scene of father and son fighting would have looked awful- even sadistic. However, their relationship was a loving father and son, well, until a few years ago.

Karon understood his son was fighting the world at his age, the age of a youngster. He too had wanted to save the world and such. Different from him, Fakir had more practical dreams of protecting the people he loved.

It was achievable, he had told his son, but he had to work for it. Karon did not push Fakir harder than he could take: but throughout the years, he had gradually grown stronger and more tolerant to his attacks. It would soon come to the point where Karon could no longer fight on an even ground with his son.

Fakir was a cold child, ever since long ago. With his parents being killed by the group of assassins called the Ravens, he had been very hard to approach and was insistent that the now blacksmith/former knight of an adoptive father, train him.

Fakir worked extremely and abnormally hard, and Karon admired that about his son. Sure, his raising would have been easier if he had a mother, but Karon couldn't despair for his own love life. His son, a boy scarred by past experiences, would need much more love and attention- and he couldn't divert his attention for a second for fear that his son would deem it as abandonment.

His son was warmly attached to him (well, as attached as he could be with his given psychological state), until he became the species of teenager, where it became increasingly difficult to have a conversation with him at the table. When Fakir turned fourteen, two years ago, he found quills and writing supplies in the trash.

Karon had carefully collected them and hid them, for he had the lingering feeling that he would want them once again.

Fakir was always brooding about something or other, and always had his nose in books, researching about his friend Mytho.

Karon didn't know exactly what it was about Mytho, but Fakir stuck close and made sure he was always guarded and safe. Mytho had no family and was currently living with them, but his son had obviously seen something worth protecting in the young man.

But the more Karon worried, the more Fakir retreated into himself. So, Karon just trained him, gave him pearls of wisdom, and did not bother with the affairs of the young man. He was left alone to struggle and find the answers to his own problems, since he never asked Karon for advice. If he did, Karon would be happy to oblige, but since he didn't, they ate in silence or minimal conversation.

He continued to parry and block Fakir's blows, finding holes in his defense and honestly and dutifully pointing them out with his sword.

Karon believed that each time Fakir got hit, he learned.

"_The more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in battle,"_ Karon rehearsed the knight's motto in his head as he reminded himself that hurting his son would do him good in the end.

At least, that was what he hoped.

When Fakir was born, the local doctor had told his parents, Karon's sibling and wife, that he inherited the "cursed scar." It was a legend, the doctor had said. He had never seen it before in his life! When they had asked about the scar, the doctor had simply smiled and said that the legend had it that he was fated to be a knight, who got split in half, who died in vain.

Karon shook the shiver from his spine as he dutifully found another hole in Fakir's defense, but instead of stabbing or cutting him as usual, Fakir's sword cut him.

Karon smiled- the hole had been a fake- a set-up. Fakir had lured him into being defenseless, or as defenseless as Karon could be.

"_All this training would do him good," _Karon thought. He surely would not die in vain now.

Karon again tuned out the clanging of the swords and focused on strategy. They were both tired, and Fakir was worn almost completely, so it would be easy to simply let him waste his energy and then he would finish off their practice battle.

As soon as Karon relented, Fakir simply matched him.

"_The boy was learning," _He told himself, and he mentally praised his son. He attacked, Fakir sidestepped.

It kept on like this, and Karon told himself to not underestimate the boy's abilities. It was hard enough that they were both tired, but it was like Fakir had endless energy.

The sun's light slowly made the swords shine and their location darken. Karon thought that he only had moments left before the sun finally set. Where had the time gone? They had both been so concentrated in strategy that they had not remembered that their practice stage was light by the sun- whose light would only last awhile.

Karon faked, where Fakir immediately went in for his undefended side, and Karon disarmed him.

With a loud clang, the sword ran from his son's hands and into the grass below- about ten or so feet away.

They both knew that it was over.

The air was dense with silence, and the only thing that was heard was the sound of ragged breathing from Fakir, and trained and even breathing from Karon.

If this had been a real battle, Fakir would have been killed, and they both knew it.

Fakir didn't break the silence, and neither did Karon. Karon was trained to wait and observe, and react. Fakir was just sulking that he lost again.

So, this time, Karon would have to reinforce his self-confidence and speak. "You did well, Fakir. You are certainly improving."

There was a light in the boy's cold green depths, but it only lasted a second. If Karon had been untrained, he wouldn't have seen it at all. Karon's praise was hard to come by, and with two sentences, Karon had successfully inflated the boy's pride.

Karon had a nagging feeling in his chest that he had to do something more, something more meaningful, before it was too late.

"Fakir, I think it's time to give you the Lohengrin sword. Do what you must and have no regrets."

Fakir stopped his every motion, knowing exactly what this meant. He stared at Karon for a couple of seconds, and studied the ground, somewhat bashful. And then that feeling was gone, and he looked straight into the eyes of the only father he knew and asked, "But, I lost."

"With loss you learn," Karon said his pearl of wisdom like an old, wise sage.

"My training isn't over." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. But still, it was filled with a subtle hint of doubt.

"No, but you have progressed enough that you can have it. I have taught you all I can- I hope that you can improve each day with or without me. Failure isn't the route we wish for, but sometimes it can lead us to our destiny."

Fakir breathed deeply, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. He was mentally preparing himself for receiving the sword, the sword he had often dreamed about receiving, the message it would send to others: that he was a practiced swordsman. He was that of legends.

Karon had found the sword when he was a knight, and even though it responded to him fairly well, he had always felt that it was meant for someone else. It was the sword of legends- lost in a mythical battle that maybe had never existed. But that's why it was a legend- no one knew which part was true, and which was a lie.

Karon slowly took the sword out of its sheath, and put it into his son's hands. The hilt, which was so familiar, yet at the same time not truly his, left his hand with more determination and courage than Karon ever had. He was fully prepared to admit that Fakir was better than him when he was his age, but he still had doubts about the sword. It meant that Fakir _was _a practiced swordsman, but it also meant that he was dealing with fate.

Fakir's eyes opened the second the hilt touched his hands, as if feeling the familiar after so long. His eyes had a sort of fire in them, that of determination. He had finally climbed high enough that he could be a protector.

Sure, he was only half-way there, but Fakir was sure that he would practice drills every day, and that he would improve.

Karon slid the belt of the Lohengrin sword unto his son. The time had finally come. The time where Karon could protect him had ended- the time now was that he hoped that Fakir had absorbed all his knowledge, that he could protect himself with what he learned.

He was a parent, so he was prone to worrying. But his regret that he couldn't help his son more dominated his heart for more than a fluttering second. The feeling that he didn't raise him right almost choked him- but he simply swallowed it down.

As soon as Fakir got both parts of the sword, there was a mystical aura around him; one that Fakir hadn't even noticed himself.

"_The story moves…" _A dark voice, unheard to anyone, mumbled in glee. A dark shadow loomed in the sunset, cackling lowly to himself.

"Fakir, I have to go home and prepare dinner. Can you get some cheese from one of the shops?" Karon asked of his son, and his son grumbled a bit; but he was glad to be trusted with not only the sword, but to get to show it off.

"Of course," Fakir answered, walking away, not noticing his father's feelings: just so elated and proud with himself.

As soon as Fakir was out of the field, where they had started to practice for so many years, Karon didn't move.

It seemed as if he wasn't able to. And then he slowly sat down in the grass. The grass was long, and as he sat down, it tickled the sides of his torso because it was knee-length.

More than anything in the world, he wasn't as proud of his son as he wanted himself to be. He chastised himself for being petty, yet at the same time, fear choked his throat and his body.

Fear for his son.

He had dreams about it, sometimes. He had dreams about how Fakir would go off one day, on his horse, get into battle and be split in half- watching how he failed to protect the people he loved.

And slowly, Karon took out a piece of gold out of his pocket, and traced the pattern of it. It had an almost regalia feel to it, but it had always made him feel better.

But the regret, that he could no longer protect his son, that he could do more, remained.

Karon pushed it out of his heart once more, and then decided to go back home.

-x-

Fakir couldn't help but walk tall and proud. This was the moment he had been waiting for, for almost a good sixteen years. If anything, it was an important milestone for him.

But, Fakir knew damn well what feelings his father had about training him, hurting him. Fakir always saw the brief millisecond of pain that came with each blow that touched his body. It pained him to see his father hurting because of what he wanted, but Fakir knew that despite everything, his father wanted him to accomplish his own dreams.

Some of which even he, Karon, could not complete.

Sometimes, Fakir was pretty lonely. If he wasn't sparring with Karon and learning from him, he was with Mytho- and when he wasn't with Mytho, he always was looking out for him, or reading books for him.

Lately, the noblewoman by the name of Rue, who had often played with Mytho as a child, was hiding him from Fakir: or just wasting Mytho's time.

Rue knew just as well as he that Mytho clung to anyone who would reach a hand out to him- anyone at all. That's why Fakir was so protective of Mytho: who knew when the guy would go off with a dangerous person or something?

That's why he wanted to be a knight- to protect Mytho. Technically, he was always Mytho's knight, but he wanted the sword he had now- to prove once and for all that he was of legends.

But of course, being made of legends had a completely darker feeling than he would have liked to admit. Sure, he was proud of all he had accomplished, and yet… Every time he looked at the story of _Princess Tutu, _he could never turn the page, never see what would happen to the Knight.

That's where all the legends surrounding the kingdoms came from. The book was written long ago, but no one knew who actually wrote it. In all the books he had found, it was one that no matter where he asked, no one knew. The author's name was thoroughly scratched off: it was the same with many other stories, and sometimes, books even had endings ripped out of them.

He never understood why such a thing had to happen. He didn't even get it, and he didn't get why he was thinking about such a stupid subject.

He looked around the world of Kinkan Village, where the cobblestones dominated, and the people where rushing here and there. The architecture was old and somewhat had a German/Slavic feel to it: but even the old somehow found a new glow. It had been a town where he had grown up in, along with Mytho and Rue. Today, it lost its lackluster appearance that he often thought of it, and it had a shine of possibilities.

Even though he had no mother, he had a mother figure in the form of Raetsel. She was definitely a beauty, and she often came over to check on him. She lived in a separate village, but Fakir could never remember the name.

It bothered Fakir that even though Karon had some feelings for her, and she was more than ready to admit that she had feelings for his father, nothing came out of it.

But, what was he to do? He was a child in a "situation." He wasn't stupid- he knew that Karon gave him more attention than other fathers simply because of his past. He was cold to him a lot now, and even though he regretted it a little, he wanted to show his father that he didn't need to hover and make sure of his situation. Karon had to take care of his own.

But what more could he do than that? Karon didn't like interference in his life. So Fakir kept to himself and kept as quiet as he could.

He walked past the bread shop without paying attention to the argument that was happening inside.

"AHHHHIIIIIIIRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUU UU!" Came an utterly frustrated voice from deep within the bread shop.

"Uwah! I'm suuuper sorry, Neko-sensei!" Came the apologetic voice of a certain orange-haired girl.

His voice seemed to prickle, but Fakir was studying the cheeses next door.

"It's Neko-yama sensei! If you keep failing at making bread, YOU'LL HAVE TO MARRY MEEEEE!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorrryyyyyy!" Everyone could hear the panicked footsteps as they ran away from the shop.

Fakir had gone inside the cheese shop, asked for the cheese displayed in the window, and paid.

"AHIRU! IF YOU'RE LATE AGAIN…"

"I'm sorrrrryyyyyyy!" Interrupted the voice of the sorry girl, already farther away.

The baker at the bread shop sighed, and retreated back into his shop. The whole village knew that he was a bachelor still, and had not courted a girl in a very long time. But the drama that often occurred with the new girl of the village was often hilarious and fun to watch: not only because of his radical personality, but the way she failed at nearly everything was fantastic.

As nearly the whole village watched the squabble, Fakir was already on his way back home, not caring for one second about a stupid girl who couldn't even make bread.

-x-

Fakir kept thinking, rethinking, and doubting- that was unusual. Not the fact that he was thinking- no, he did that all the time. But the fact that he doubted himself was a first.

Did he have the courage to finally face his fate, did he have the courage to flip the page of that book, and see what happened in the story? Did he have what it took to finally be a Knight?

He had the sword, but that was only part of it: he didn't have the mindset.

He passed the library, and immediately stopped. Why not go now, why not flip that page, and face the facts? The Knight in that story had tried to defy fate: he had tried to fight the crows; he had tried to save Princess Tutu, and the Prince.

Fakir always seemed to stop, and as the page came to an end, describing as the Knight fought the crows, and was thrown into the air, Fakir couldn't make himself continue.

He knew that before he could do anything himself, he _had _to know. But, did he really? What if the Knight just died? What would make him feel better after he read it, after he knew the knowledge, after he knew what would kill him?

He didn't know- but he knew one thing.

Today was the day. Today was the day everything changed.

He turned, and went through the doors of the little library, nuzzled in between an empty restaurant and Kinkan Academy.

He took a breath, and tired to keep his pulse even as he nodded casually towards the owner of the bookshop, a man with gray around his temples, but otherwise bald. He was scribbling something, but as soon as he heard the door open, he nodded and went right back to his work under the little green lamp.

Fakir trudged through the stacks books, and went up the stairs to the second floor. Usually, no one was here, and he could read in peace at his place by the window. Usually, it was the perfect place, secluded by the towering, intimidating bookshelves that would have otherwise scared away customers.

Again, no one was here, and instead of sitting at his usual spot, he dragged the chair over to the table by the window, and picked up the book- so worn and yet the magic was as new every time he opened it.

He began reading the chapter of the Knight and Princess Tutu- how they managed to find the lake that had been waiting for them for over 200 years.

The way Princess Kraehe taunted Princess Tutu, how the Knight protected both the Prince and Tutu by offering to fight.

The lake turns to ice as the crows approach him, and he easily fights them off until he is thrown in the air…

The page ended as he knew it would. It was impossible for him to get past this page, and it seemed like he never would.

And then, out of nowhere, a cold hand reaches where his hand is currently stalling the page, and gently helps him flip it.

Fakir was too curious, and at the same time afraid of his fate, that he didn't bother to look up and thank the person who had so gently helped him.

As he read, his face twisted in pain, reacting. The Knight had been thrown into the air, and was fighting the crows- but suddenly, it became too much for him… And then together in a swarm, hit the Knight as one, sending him into the dark depths. A pool of blood rose to the surface of the again water of the lake.

Fakir swallowed, and he couldn't bring himself to read anymore. The Knight had died- the Knight had been useless to Tutu and the Prince. The Knight had done all he could, and yet… Nothing mattered anymore. The Knight had died, and he was to die too.

"Everything is not as simple as it seems." The voice brought him back to the real world, and he remembered there had been another person in the room.

He looked away from the book, and looked to the person that had helped him.

It was a woman with long, green hair, and blue eyes. She had two little strands on the top of her head standing up in different directions, and her clothes were very weird. Yellow and red striped pants, a layered top and a very poofy skirt; she looked more like a clown puppet than human. But she was definitely someone Fakir knew.

She was Edel, the woman who often sold jewelry by wandering around the town and having a very specific customer base. She did not see people who were not on her "list." But also, she had recently adopted the failure of a bread making girl named Ahiru. She wasn't cold, she was just… inhuman. It was weird for him to use such a term, but parts of her personality where nearly robotic. She sometimes spoke in cryptic phrases, and she made more questions than she gave answers.

What was she doing here?

"Have the book, Fakir." She took the book, closed it, wrapped it, and put it into his hands.

And how did she know his name?

"Remember: may those who accept their fate find happiness. May those who defy it find glory."

"Did you write this?" Fakir asked, knowing that such a phrase was in the book as well. It was something that had slipped out of his mouth for no reason at all, and yet, something felt oddly familiar about this person… As if he had met her before- but that was impossible. They had never crossed paths in this village.

The woman looked curiously at him, and blinked once. "No, but I knew the man that did."

"Who was he?"

"The answer you are looking for, you must find on your own."

"Is he still alive?"

"Who knows?"

The conversation was going nowhere, and Fakir knew that no matter what he asked the mysterious woman, no answer would be told to him.

"Why do I need the book?"

"To find the answers you seek."

Fakir rolled his eyes. It was like Fate had taken a human form and she was speaking to him, giving him useless objects that he could use in the possible future… If he had one.

But what was the purpose of fighting if he simply died in vain? What was the purpose of protecting, if he could not protect in his last moments? _May those who accept their fate find happiness. May those who defy it find glory. _The words rang in his head with a new vigor. The Knight got recognized in the story, right? So what if he hadn't defied Fate? He had tried: he had protected the people he wanted to protect, even in death.

Maybe, even if that Knight hadn't succeeded, he had set something in motion. Maybe _he, Fakir, _could succeed. If he was going to carry on, why not change the legend? Why not defy Fate? Why not fight for his future? Protect the Prince?

He could do it, no… He _would _do it. He would change his future. He would change the legend.

Instead of being the Knight who died in vain, he would be the one who lived.

He looked up from the book in his hands to thank Edel, but she had gone in the same way she had came- silently, swiftly, and like a cat. She left so quietly that even his trained ears couldn't pick up on her movements.

That woman was more silent and trained than he was.

-x-

Dark clouds gathered around the square of Kinkan, and Fakir didn't even notice until blackness surrounded the town. He was walking towards home, and something just didn't feel right.

Fakir looked up to see blackness. It was almost scary, not being able to look up and see the sky. It was almost… sinister.

Something was definitely not right. He had to get home. _Now._

Fakir ran as fast as he could, opened the door, and slammed it shut.

A dark voice cackled in glee as the show began, but it was unheard to anyone in the town.

"Fakir, we may not be able to have dinner as planned." Karon spoke, as he came out of the shadows. The house was dark, and Fakir (even with his night training) had to let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the house.

Fakir swallowed, and was about to speak as a terrible scream wafted through the air.

And then, there was the sound of glass breaking: a sharp crack and the shattering of windows.

Then, there were a thousand different sounds of panic: screaming, crows cawing, broken glass, the smell of smoke, darkness…

Fakir knew what this meant: the Ravens had finally attacked their peaceful town- and that was when everything within him collapsed. He had to finish them: he had to kill them… He took the sword out of its sheath and began to strategize in his head how he would rip them apart, limb by limb, and how he would kill-

"No, Fakir. You have to flee, or you won't be able to protect Mytho."

Karon's words brought him back to reality and away from his rage. _Karon is right. If I don't leave now, Mytho will die, much like my parents did._

_But what about Karon? _Fakir shifted his thoughts to the only father he knew, and if he was to escape, what would happen to him?

Would he die, much like his parents did? Fakir couldn't bear the thought. For so long, he had Karon as a father and mentor, and he wouldn't be able to bear it if he died…

"Don't worry about me, Fakir." Karon's voice rang strong and sturdy, just as the man himself. He _was _capable of defending himself, and others, if necessary. But Fakir would have to flee with Mytho.

Speaking of which…

"Where's Mytho?"

"Upstairs, curled in a blanket, and he has retreated into himself again."

"Damn it!" Fakir raced up the stairs, faster than he ever has before, with the dutiful push of adrenaline. Mytho had done this before, and he was likely to do it again. But now was not the time…

"Fakir!" Karon called from below. "I already prepared your things! Even Mytho's!"

For that part, Fakir was relieved. The family motto was to always be prepared and have an emergency escape kit, and it had finally come in handy.

But Fakir had to take care of Mytho, the Prince of a distant land. You see, right before his coronation as King, the Ravens invaded his town, and Mytho had to flee and hide his identity as everyone he knew and loved were to be slayed by the Ravens.

Ever since then, Mytho blocked the memories of that time, and had become a shell of his old self. Sure, he protected things needing protecting, like little birds who were scared to fly, or animals from a fire, but all his emotions, his whole past, seemed to be erased.

And every time something catalyzed a thought to that time, Mytho would have an episode. He would retreat into himself and mumble things that seemed useless but were actually very important. Only two people in this town knew who he was: Fakir and Rue, the noblewoman.

Curse her, that woman. She wasn't good enough for Mytho. She was awful, using him to make herself feel better…

Fakir reached the room where Mytho was mumbling to himself, curled in a blanket in the vetal position.

"Crown," Mytho was currently mumbling. "Pieces."

_Pieces of a crown? _Fakir had never heard Mytho talk of such a thing.

"Broke the crown."

Fakir did not enter, but simply listened.

"The heart of the people. The last treasure."

Fakir couldn't stall anymore. He entered the room, but Mytho wasn't paying attention to him. "Hid the pieces. Scattered them across the land."

Fakir shook Mytho, but he didn't snap out of it until he murmured the last words, "Have to find it to fight the Ravens."

And that's when Fakir knew he could not let Mytho find the pieces of this crown. He couldn't let the Prince die at the hands of the Ravens, couldn't let another person he loved fall victim to them.

Fakir had a purpose now. He had someone not only to protect, but he had something to protect _against. _Mytho wouldn't- couldn't, fight the Ravens. He would surely…

"Fakir?" His voice asked, melancholy and empty again.

"Mytho, we need to go. _Now."_

Fakir had made his choice.

-x-

**Done! Woo-hoo! How was it? Good? Bad? Eh? Review, so I can know what to do better next chapter!**


	2. Akt 2: The Overture

"_Fate is a cruel mistress, and if you choose to fight against her, you must never give up; you must never show weakness- because Fate is like a snake- she smells fear and lunges at you, biting you, curling around your very soul, choking your hope, until finally you give in and are swallowed whole."_

-x-

There is a legend about a servant woman who fell in love with a powerful Prince. He was always the target of assassins, and each time he escaped he almost died. After years of her painful love, she made a deal with a witch who gave her powers to protect the Prince in exchange for her blood. The witch warned the girl that she must hide her identity, or else the spell would be broken, and she would die a violent, painful death. She also warned that every time the girl used her powers, more blood would fill the vial. And when the bottle was full, she would die.

The woman did not care about her circumstances, only that of her beloved. Every time her masked identity would save him, he would ask for her name, but she would disappear into the shadows: only to come again when he needed her most.

Finally, when the woman was close to death, she removed her mask and told the Prince of her identity. The Prince rejected her immediately for they were of different classes, and she threw herself off the castle wall: towards a violent, painful death.

**But did the Woman even mean to die? Or did she just fall off the wall, surrendering to Fate's cruel irony?**

-x-

A girl with orange hair and a long braid was packing a bag somewhat spastically, throwing in objects chaotically: dancing shoes, a leotard and tutu, a mask, underwear, bras, shorts, tees, shoes, a duck pillow… And suddenly, she slowed down, picking up a little box with vials inside, and slowly counted them. Once she reached the final number, twenty-six, she slowly closes the box, latching the front. She puts it in her suitcase, and she fingers her necklace- a white, crystal orb, with slight tinges of red at the bottom.

She tries to close the suitcase, but the load is too much.

She bangs it, once, twice- but no luck.

She opens it, and then slams it shut, and hurries to secure the latches of the suitcase. Before it can pop open, she sits on it; and when it gives the satisfying _click, _she sighs. She gets up from the suitcase, which was thrown unto the bed, a white double with plain sheets.

A figure looms in the doorway of the girl's room in the little one-story cottage. Tall, a poofy skirt, a blank face, so wise yet at the same time full of feeling…

"Ahiru," Not as cold as before, with Fakir, but it is a melodic murmur with her adoptive daughter.

Ahiru turns towards her adoptive mother, Edel, who is standing in the doorway.

"It comes." It is one simple sentence, one simple phrase, and yet… Ahiru cannot fight the shivers from her body. Today is the day the Ravens will invade, much like they did to her previous village. It will happen all over again; the shouts from the village, the fires... The one place she called home torched. Every time she gets comfortable, every time she finds something worth protecting, worth keeping- it was, no _is,_ taken from her. But no more. _With_ _this, _she thought, fingering her necklace, _I have hope_. _I can do something. I can be useful. _

A deep, exhausted sigh is heard leaving her lips. The cheer exhibited at the village is nowhere to be found, and there is a visible clump in her throat. Ahiru turns away, reaching for the knife at the bedside table- the knife with an eagle head on the hilt. Her fingers trace the eagle's eyes, and then go toward the forehead.

"You do not have to finish this quest." For a mere millisecond, Edel's eyes flash something between knowledge and guilt. It seemed that she had seen this happen before; but Ahiru doesn't stop as she slowly traces up towards the eagle's scalp.

Ahiru does not catch Edel's expression as she turns to face her again; her fingers stalling when she begs them to go forward, begs them to finish what they started; begs them to have _courage_. With a fairly forced smile, she says, "I have to."

"Tutu does not get her happy ending." Edel's eyes meet Ahiru's- Ahiru's gaze is the first to break, as she again looks down at the knife.

But her voice does not falter: in a feat of blind courage, she responds "I know."

"I admire you- how can you continue with it when you know it will not turn out well?" Edel was no master at human nature- she was tortured with the same role of every era, of every _"Edel"_: to watch blindly, "unbiased" (who could REALLY watch and be totally unbiased), as the plot goes forward without her. She could not change it- no matter how much she wanted to. She could not stop it; she could not heed it; she could only urge it forward. That was her role- that was her destiny.

But just because it _was, _didn't mean she liked it. She never did- not the first, nor the second, and certainly not _this _time. The first time, she felt herself open her heart to _Tutu, _helped her and the writer towards their fight, to their fate; then guided the _writer, Tutu, and the Prince _back…. Edel blinked as she remembered the heat of the first pas-de-deux she had ever witnessed: the fortune of _Tutu and the Prince, _the beauty and grace of their dance, the pain of the _future Writer… _And then she remembered the second pas-de-deux: the cold flame of determination, of trust and actual true love, the _true _pas-de-deux that took place at the bottom of despair-_ the last time she would ever dance, _Edel reminded herself, _the last time she could profess her feelings, where she couldn't disappear; but she didn't trust herself- she trusted the Writer, but not herself. She choked on the words that mattered most…_ _She and the Writer suffered the most. All they wanted was someone else's happiness, all they worked for was the happiness of the Prince, and neglected themselves. He never wrote her back into a human- he never succeeded in breaking Drosselmeyer's curse. The Prince and Princess got their happy ending, but Tutu and the writer did not. They never did._

That's why Edel told Fakir that time, and this time too: "May those who defy Fate find glory." It was what she wanted to do, yet never could: it was what she always craved, yet never could. She could never break the curse of her circumstances: she was just an onlooker, a passerby to the story. She could never change it, and never would.

"Because I want to help the Prince," The words had the most conviction. She was in love with him; she was in _love _with him again.

"Do you?" She couldn't watch another tragedy. She couldn't watch Tutu get hurt again. And this time… Oh, it had seemed so different, but it was still the same. She had gotten attached again, attached to _Ahiru, _and had gotten used to being around her sunshine. Would she cry this time, tell her she had feelings, that she was human? Would she even do that this time? She prayed to the gods it would be different this time.

"_Someone always suffers," _Drosselmeyer's words droned in her head. But she couldn't decide who was to suffer. Maybe that's why she was a puppet: maybe that's why she wasn't a writer- because she couldn't decide who should suffer.

"…Yes." Ahiru looked down at the knife again.

"Tutu does not win the Prince's heart. Every generation of Tutu is bound to fall to tragedy." This time, Edel would warn her: maybe it would change something, anything. "You read _Princess Tutu: _you read how she could never confess her love to the Prince, and though she loved the writer, she was a duck. She never changed back- never got her happy ending. And in the _Prince and the Raven, _she turned into specks of light…"

Ahiru looked at her, her eyes not ablaze with anger, but with courage. "He deserves to have his heart back, or whatever he has lost: it is his fate to defeat the Ravens-

Ahiru continued on, and Edel looked at her with pity. _She is so much like _her: _so much like her predecessor. Always thinking, feeling, for someone else. When will you finally see that your happiness matters too?_

She smiled at Edel, as she continued talking about the Prince. She was from that same kingdom as him, the same kingdom: she saw him get smuggled away, how his helpers got captured, how he fought until he was almost dead, how he broke something up, a _treasure _of the kingdom… Into little pieces. She fell in love with his courage, his looks… But had never met him.

She was in love with the Prince.

A scream was heard, and all hesitation was wiped away.

Ahiru didn't look at Edel as she sliced her braid off, and her choice was evident. She was going to play Tutu: there were no doubts about it.

She swiftly reattached her braid with some bobby pins- because Tutu was her _secret_ identity.

Edel, if human, would have cried- she would have screamed herself. The fate that awaited her daughter was not a happy one: but she could do nothing now.

Ahiru had chosen.

Edel's eyes closed as a kiss was forced upon her cheek, and a cheery, "Good bye, Edel-san!" made its way into her ears. But her hug tightened, as if, for a second, she doubted. Edel returned the hug, a bit nervous herself. But she projected all the strength she could muster, and that seemed to have worked.

It was as if she was going back to the bread shop, to try again at her daily failure. It was as any other day, but instead of the front door slamming, instead of hearing cries of "I'm late!" she heard the horse whinny and a "Giddy Up!"from the back as trots quickly disappeared from her range.

As soon as she was gone, she heard a voice: deep tenor, with a sadistic air.

"Uzura-chan."

"I go by Edel now," she answered, almost to herself.

In front of her, a man with a lizard robe stood in front of her with a large nose poking at her; long, white hair and beard, and beady eyes with crinkles around his smile and eyes, and had a general creepy air to him. It was almost as if this was any other creepy man, except for the fact that this man had a history of being, well, _dead. _His hat was on the coat hanger, and he had the audacity of making himself at home.

"It's ridiculous that you rebuilt yourself to look exactly the same!" He exclaimed, examining her. "You had the choice to look completely different, yet you chose to hold onto your tragic past!" Here, he shook his head, but his smirk was placed on his face. "An author cannot ask for a better minor character, Edel, really. But it doesn't matter! All _you _do," his bony, pale fingers stabbed at her breast, "is meddle- really, Edel. You should learn by now…" His smirk was wiped away in annoyance at how she tried to meddle, _again, _with his story.

Edel licked her lips. As time went on, she got more and more expressive. "_They_ aren't going to let you get away with this." Her statement was blunt as she pointed upward.

Time seemed to stop, and all the gears stopped- and then suddenly, a silhouetted shadow of a ballerina was shown, and with a _clunk _of the gear moving, the ballerina moved as if she were being controlled by stings: she lurched forward, her left hand palm downward, fingers almost brushing her face: her back limp, her right hand outstretched, and on Pointe.

And the light brightened again, back to its original shade.

Drosselmeyer looked up, and almost cursed. "Yes, yes, I know. That relative of mine… That damn _Fakir… _He had the talent to write so much tragedy, yet all he did was write happy endings! He had so much potential, really…"

"You can't blame him," Edel countered. "He had enough tragedy for a lifetime."

Drosselmeyer chuckled. "Oh yes, Edel… He wrote all these stories, yet he could never love whom he wanted! He could never dance with her again… And he died loving a duck!" Drosselmeyer started to laugh. "Oh yes, what a character! He never did disappoint me!"

Edel narrowed her eyes. "This time, there will be a happy ending…"

"Oh-ho! So you think! But time is not kind to a certain _Tutu. _She will complete the tragic story, just as she had time and time again. Her suffering will be beautiful, her tragedy show-stopping! Yet all she will do is suffer, and suffer, and she will never touch her beloved! The _Prince _will never know her identity! He will never love her! And the Knight… Just as before, he will come upon tragedy. _They will not escape tragedy!_ The Prince will never return to his kingdom, the noble lady will never get her Prince… Everything, every tragedy will come into play in the best way possible! And from the last time I have learned to let everything fall into place by itself, with less meddling. Oh, how this story moves! How exciting!" He turned away from her, as if walking away.

Edel's eyes were not amused. "You can never be truly unbiased."

Drosselmeyer turned to face her again, and his face molded into a smirk. "Who says I was? I am always cheering for a certain _Ahiru._ She truly is the best character, you know. Always confusing admiration with love- no other character can compare to her foolishness or bravery- and her demeanor! Giving hope, so much _hope, _and then disappointing the others! There is no better tragedy then one always expected, but thought to be stopped, then occurring! Oh, a masterpiece of a character."

Edel was about to counter, but he was gone: even if his hat was still on the coat hanger.

"Damn you, Drosselmeyer."

With the gears beginning to clunk, to move, the shadow of the ballerina seemed to dance a pas-de-deux in slow motion: all by herself.

-x-

Ahiru felt the tent, her bag, and the supplies on her horse to make sure everything was still intact. The darkness was a cynical, savage black that was only lighted by her green lantern.

The forest was only highlighted by her light, and the wind was whipping at her and her horse: she was glad she draped something over herself before they had left. It was getting to be very, very cold outside. Her eyes were searching for a village light, a lantern light, _anything, _really… To give her clues to where she was or where she was going.

Her ears were pricked as she scanned for anything other than her horse, the adrenaline beating at her, putting her into hyper-alert.

If the Ravens caught her… If the Ravens were after them… They took no survivors. They burned buildings, pillaged, killed, and left.

Her hands squeezed around the reins and she was sure her knuckles were white- even if she couldn't see them.

She wanted a safe place to sleep, and until she got one, she _would not sleep. _She willed herself not to- however, usually, sleep brought a rest from her thoughts and surrendered her consciousness to good dreams. Now, all she could think of, while awake, was her shortcomings.

_Klutz. Useless. Idiot. Klutz. Useless. Idiot._

She willed herself to think of something, anything else; but the break from her shortcomings and the dark left her to think about the Ravens catching her. Her demons circled around her, and the slight light threw shadows, making her peer around in paranoia, half expecting a Raven to jump out from the night and catch her, torture her, and kill her; and half wondering if something worse was behind a tree. She was thinking of what she would do if they caught up to her, even if her brain was screaming that they would not. Logic took a backseat to panic, and as she traveled farther and the night got later, her imagination started running ahead of her.

The forest was maniacal, laughing at her- _do you think you can save him, little Ahiru? Do you think you can? How will this time be different? How will this time…?_

She chided herself for giving the trees thoughts. Yes, there were ugly faces painted in the trees (a side-effect of darkness, she told herself) but they weren't laughing at her- it was only her stupid thoughts as she rode (hopefully) in the direction of the next village. She had to help the Prince.

But she also had to stay alive until she could do it.

She held onto Nachkomme_, _her beautiful horse: a cinnamon horse with white hair, a beauty, which not only shared her personality, but _understood her. _

_Why do his eyes look so lonely? _She asked herself. _When he was trying to save his knights, he had conviction in his eyes: he was protecting them. _

_But now…_

She had seen him around town, around town with his friend, Fakir. Fakir always was around where Mytho was, and they seemed to be the only inhabitants of their world. How she yearned to be part of _any _world, really; she was alone.

Sure, back in her hometown, she had Pike and Lillie, but she left that all behind when she hid from the Ravens and escaped in the dead of night, following the lantern of the Prince.

She had never spoken to him; not when they were at home or in her second home; but she heard the rumors. "_He is a doll_", they said. _"No memories of his past." _

"_Poor boy."_

But they hadn't _seen- _they hadn't _seen _him when he was fighting to protect his people! How emotional he was then, how courageous and convicted he was toward the cause.

But she saw him sometimes- how he would get that look on his face, even if it was just a second- and she found herself holding her breath to see if he would _remember. _

But then the look was gone again, and he would go back to those lonely eyes that no one else seemed to notice.

A stream of light caused her to break from her thoughts about Mytho.

_Light. _

It was slightly dim, and you couldn't see it if you weren't close: it was her guardian angel, her savior-

"Mytho," a voice whispered. It was incredibly masculine, yet somewhat nervous. Maybe a baritone, but certainly not a tenor. It couldn't have belonged to someone more than sixteen.

…_Mytho? _

As she slowed Nachkomme, she remembered the voice as a silhouette of the light was thrown: a taller man, with a ponytail, and a lean build.

_Fakir, _she thought to herself.

As she hopped off Nachkomme, she landed on a stick. With a subtle snap, her position was known.

"Who goes there?" The nervousness was swept away, and was replaced with caution, and he spoke in a raspy almost-whisper. Yet in the quiet forest, where only the crickets chirped and the owl hooted, everything was quiet.

It took a minute for Ahiru to remember that he was talking to her. If she waited some more, she might get attacked. She'd have to make her position known.

"A friend." Mustering all her courage, she poised herself tall, and walked Nachkomme closer to the light.

She could see Fakir now, how he had on a button-down shirt and some jeans- while Mytho seemed to be in the next tent.

Fakir squinted to see her, as she was still cloaked in darkness.

"Okay, 'friend,'" Fakir began, "What brings you here?"

Ahiru opened her mouth to answer, "_Well, I'm here to restore the Prince's heart… Or whatever." _But soon realized Tutu was a secret. She didn't really have an answer as to why she came upon their camp.

And it seemed weird for her to fall upon the camp when running away from the Ravens.

He would think she had an ulterior motive.

_But I do… _she thought to herself.

_What do I say? What do I do?!_

**All right, I am ending it here. Wasn't that a great chapter? Yes? No? Maybe?**

**Review, please!**


	3. Akt 3: Enter the Dark Princess

"_Doubt eats at the soul, crawls into the mind, and stays there- hunkered down, and waiting patiently. It shows itself at the darkest moment, when there is no one to help you. There is no way to truly wipe out doubt, because it plants seeds in your head- and once the right situation comes, you begin to doubt yourself. And that- __**that- **__is truly deadly."_

-x-

Once upon a time, there was a lovely maiden. Her beauty was of every woman in the entire kingdom times tenfold, yet she did not believe that. Every day, she would return home to the curses and the belittlings of her father, the town drunk- and cry herself to sleep at night, only to venture outside with a smile on her face. One day, when she was walking through the forest, as she did every day, she heard the whisperings of the great oak tree. "Child," the oak tree whispered, "Do you wish to become beautiful?" The girl nodded her head, and the oak tree smiled. "I will make you beautiful." In the language of the trees, the old oak whispered some things, and in a sacred ceremony, sprinkled crepe myrtle petals over her. In seconds, the maiden could feel herself become beautiful. As she hurried towards the stream to see her reflection, she kept thinking _Oh, what it would be like to be beautiful! What it would be like... _And she finally reached the stream. She leaned over, and searched the water for her reflection, only to scream in realization as she did not have any. She rushed back to the oak tree, who, when asked, replied "You wished to become beautiful, my child. And since everyone has a different definition of beauty, you now fit all of them." The girl cried and cried, because now- now, she couldn't be seen by _anyone._

**Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, a famous person once said: but if you yourself cannot appreciate your own beauty… Who can convince you that you are beautiful?**

-x-

"Lady Rue!" An elegant, cultured voice spoke. "Another letter has arrived!"

Rue snapped out of her trance, her rhythm, and almost slipped out of her développé. Instead, she caught herself, gracefully pulling out of the pose and into a very "Rue" pose. Picture perfect posture, stomach tucked in, her face neutral yet closed, neck extended, and chin up. It was a regal pose, and her feet were gracefully underneath her. Rue did _not _clumsily fall out of a développé. She was a lady- she was graceful, composed, punctual, silent, and _beautiful_.

Her pianist, the wonderful Signore Pingüino, raised an eyebrow as she pulled herself together, yet said nothing at all.

His classic tuxedo was lined with a very subtle orange-faded-into-yellow on the edges of the jacket. He had a baby-blue cuff links, and even though he was clearly amused, he didn't dare to say a word.

A girl, about Rue's age, with long brown tresses of hair and equally brown skin rushed in, nervously patting a speck of dirt on her uniform- a grey blouse with a white chest, and grey puffy short sleeves with navy blue lining the ends. Her skirt was a matching grey as well, the same nay lining the lower hem, with long, knee high white socks, and Mary-Jane black shoes. She was Rue's maid- Anté Ėate Rina- but, the whole household called her "Rina."

By now, Rue was ready to accept the letter, and even though she had been in the studio for about two hours, at this moment, she didn't seem to have burst a sweat at all.

Rina had always admired Rue- the way she danced, her boyfriend, her all-around perfect life. But the thing that really made her envy Rue (other than her marvelous, perfect dancing) was the fact she had a benefactor.

This benefactor had never been in the house, and as far as Rina knew (and she knew a lot) Rue had never seen her "daddy-long legs" but every so often, would get a letter filled with money or jewels and a short note.

Rue accepted the letter, and the letter-opener knife that Rina had brought along with it- a curved knife, with a black raven's feather as a hilt.

The room was expectantly silent, as Rina waited, curiously. She never knew what these letters contained, but she knew Rue enjoyed them very much.

The only sound in the room was the slice to the top of the letter. Rue's features were upturned into a very small Rue smile, and she was again expecting advice or a jewel as she usually received. Instead, what she got was a shorter note than usual:

_My lovely daughter,_

_I will be visiting soon._

In the letter, the only thing enclosed was a black as night Raven's feather.

Rue's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, and retracted her hand as if she had touched fire. Sure, it was in her "daddy long legs" orderly cursive script, but the slant of it was almost sinister. Rue fought a shiver from her body, and the instinct that something was going to go _very very wrong _chided her brain. She knew she should be excited, but her instinctive feeling overrode any other emotion. However, she couldn't be perceived as worried or afraid. She was a lady- she was graceful, composed, punctual, silent, and _beautiful_.

She folded the letter, and began to walk towards the entrance of the studio. "Rina, I need to get dressed."

Rina's eyebrows scrunched up as well. Usually, Rue would be happy after a letter- she would immediately ask Rina to put on whatever was given to her (usually expensive jewelry). But today, she was serious. Shouldn't she be excited? Instead, she seemed to have remembered something.

"Yes, Lady Rue." Rina trailed Rue as proper maid should.

Rina's heels clacked as Rue walked silently down the hallway. Servants were running about, and every time she passed them, they would stop, bow, and she would nod in acknowledgement of their presence- but once she passed, they would return to whatever they were doing.

The hallways were grand walkways of the rich, the ceilings high and the windows in the rooms were large openings to the gardens. The mansion that Rue lived in was, architecturally, a mini-Versailles- tall, decorated columns with lots of servants, antique furniture, large bathrooms, and tiny living quarters for the servants on the highest floor.

Lavish gardens were outside, and flowers of all sizes littered the walkways with beauty, along with the never-ending mazes. Because of this, the landscaper and the gardener team were always hard at work.

Once they reached the end of the hall, they reached Rue's room. A big space, with a canopy bed and curtains of velvet overlooking a wide widow to the gardens, the main square, and the streets- unknown to Rue, there was a particular orange-haired girl running down the street and a dark-haired lad walking the opposite way.

In front of her bed was a wardrobe and a dark pine chest of drawers, and a vanity filled with perfumes, accessories, and hair accessories- also, in front of the vanity was a 16th century chair- a regal red and gold color scheme to the pastel vanilla of the vanity. On both sides of her bed were little black nightstands, each with a little black lamp.

In the corner, in the blind spot of the window, were a three-fold mirror and a platform where Rue would stand so she could be dressed.

She immediately walked towards the platform, and Rina stripped her uniform from Rue's body. Walking to the wardrobe, she pulled a light vanilla corset out, and proceeded to work fast at dressing Rue. After the corset, came a dress- a red wine dress, with a modern silhouette shaping very fashionably to Rue's hourglass figure.

Once dressed, Rina guided her to the chair in front of the vanity. Rina brushed Rue's hair, its raven locks not even ruined by sweat. Her eyes glittered a red ruby color, almost dangerously, as she stayed quiet and poised. Her thoughts, Rina observed, did not pass her face, and she was (even for her) a bit stiff.

Rina could see the tension in her shoulders, but Rue didn't say anything- her lips were pursed in an easy line (though it was a pretty hard line for Rue, Rina observed) and her hands were clasping each other in her lap as she watched.

The clock, all the way across the square, chimed. Once, twice, three, four, five times.

Dark laughter was echoing through the room, yet no one could hear it. _The show- it begins. Enter the dark princess and her solemn solo._

Rina was focused on brushing Rue's hair and noting her subtle change in behavior, yet trying not to be obvious about it. Personal maids were there to give advice, but they weren't supposed to stick their noses into the business of their employers.

Rue was studying her reflection in the mirror, studying herself. She couldn't let her so called "instincts" ruin her demeanor, ruin her image. She had worked far too hard for this, far too hard at her persona for it to crumble once it hit a speed bump. Out of all the things to get her uncomfortable! Seeing her daddy-longlegs after years of getting his letters (at one point though, they didn't come) was supposed to be an exciting event! She had to be happy!

Rue smiled softly, and made sure Rina didn't notice. But her eyes flickered in alarm as it was not a happy smile, but a light grimace. What was wrong with her?!

Sure, she couldn't stand being in front of a mirror- she always picked herself apart when seeing her reflection. Eyes that were ruby red were surely unnatural and ugly, glazing like a wildfire- destroying everything, and scrutinizing everyone; her hair was that of a Raven's nest, unnatural grooves and curls were not in the least appealing; her body was fat, and she continued to do ballet for hours, while eating little to improve her weight, and her breasts were unsightly and small. Oh yes, she hated when she looked in the mirror, but she never showed it. A lady should never complain. _Especially about a mirror, no less. _

But this wasn't the problem. Something different, something sinister (that looked very much like herself) looked at her through the mirror. No, it wasn't a look, but almost amused sadism. Rue almost jumped, but her physical form did nothing.

But as soon as it came, it had gone. Rue couldn't even remember what the woman looked like: only the same, scrutinizing red orbs, and a smirk of something truly evil.

Surely, she was going mad. _There isn't any other explanation, right?_

Unnoticed by the two women respectively in their own thoughts, a suitcase appeared- packed with clothes and necessities. Neither of them paid attention to it as it was leaning on the other side of the bed, looking as if it had been there the entire time.

Rina preoccupied herself with one of the rare knots in Rue's hair as Rue's nerves began to skyrocket- a storm of emotions waiting, waiting, and waiting until the earthquake catalyzed the tsunami to strike.

Unknown to the two women, a storm _was_ approaching. The darkness began to spread as black horses were being ridden into the square, robbers tossing smoke bombs, breaking glass, and the screams by the townspeople were unheard by the two- shielded by the expensive windows that were practically soundproof.

As the riders got closer and closer to the estate, the clock struck once again- a loud, booming strike that caused the women to look up. Surely, the clock had already stricken… Before they could react, however, the riders began to deface the gardens, riding over the flowers and shooting strange weapons never seen before. Loud bangs became heard as people dropped in the middle of panic, and more cries of absolute terror could be heard.

Servants in the halls and the foyer began to yell out in panic. Rina, startled, got the comb caught in Rue's black mane at about the same time she stood up.

A hookshot crashed through the window, and Rue let out a bloodcurdling scream- which made Rina absolutely petrified, unmovable.

A man, a robber, covered in black with a raccoon mask began to ascend to the mansion's second floor.

Rina didn't move, didn't react- she only watched in horror at what was going on. Rue, on the other hand, untangled her hair from the comb, took Rina's wrist, and began to run.

She hadn't even noticed that she had grabbed the bag next to the bed. _Heh he he. _The voice chuckled, unheard over the chaos.

"We must flee, Rina" Rue commanded. "To survive, we must flee."

"Lady Rue!" Rina said, absolutely lost. "What…"

"We must hurry!" Rue said, slipping off her shoes and holding them in her other hand, so as not to make noise. "We must make it to the stables!"

-x-

Rue wasn't sure what possessed her, but for some reason, she held tight to the tan suitcase as she rushed down the now deserted hallway. She didn't know when she grabbed it- but that didn't matter right now. She couldn't even recall whether she packed something in it or not. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins very, very hurriedly, and it didn't really matter, she decided. She had to get out of here, and fast.

_What is happening? _Her confusion ran across her face, and at that moment, she let it. Rina was far too preoccupied with being scared then looking at her. And for once, Rue really appreciated it- she let her façade fall, and she was genuinely worried. What would happen to her estate? Everything she had worked for? It was crumbling- and she heard several _thumps _as the robbers in black finally reached the second floor.

Rue hesitated for a moment, listening. Blood was flowing through her ears, and everything seemed tuned out- yet she heard that they were not headed in this direction.

She looked left, then right, and then left again. She put pressure on the wall, the "dead end" of the hall. The wall swung open, and Rue practically dragged Rina (she had now fainted due to pure fright) down the servants' steps.

Down, down and down she ran- the incline and the narrowness of the stairs almost giving her vertigo. However, she knew this was not the time. She threw Rina over her shoulder and unsteadily crept towards the stables.

They seemed undisturbed as they were deep inside the house, and Rue grabbed the saddle and the reins of her dark, black horse that was just as cultured as she was- her silent and beautiful animal named Corvus.

She shushed her horse, and gently placed Rina on his back, tied her baggage to the horse (along with a sleeping bag), slipped on her shoes, and got on by the spurs of her dark beast, and they raced off the property, not being seen by anyone.

Or so she thought.

-x-

_Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk. _Four gears were thumping away, moving faster in a void where stories, lives, could be manipulated.

One showed a dark-haired Knight pointing a sword and facing the dark.

The one next to that one showed a Dancer, hiding in the darkness, willing to reveal herself.

The one below the Knight showed another- a white-haired Prince with a blank expression, eyes aglow.

The one diagonal to the Knight showed the noblewoman, racing on her horse towards the forest, fleeing from the only home she knew.

"_Eh heh heh," _The mysterious man cackled as he rocked forward and backward while he watched the show. "_Nothing can stop the tragedy this time! They will suffer. They will grieve! All of them will lose in the most fantastic way possible! Their fate…"_

The entire void vibrated, and the lights were quick to go off, but the gears kept moving.

Only the old man's lair seemed to be affected.

The darkness was consuming, but the old man did not fear it. He had faced "death." He had faced much worse than the dark: in fact, he sort of liked the dark. But this dark was different, more powerful; but it only enraged him. It was annoying and pesky- it had no place here. Here was his sanctuary, here was his lair. _He _was supposed to have control over it. There was not to be any _incidents _here like the last time. No, this _would _go as planned. He willed it, no- he _needed _it to- because his lair served only one purpose: and that was to entertain him.

"_No!" _He shouted, enraged and powered by the tragedy (that _would occur soon enough) _as he got up. He could not see anything, not even his hand curled into a fist and shaking at the sky. _"No matter what _he _has done, you will not stop me!"_

Instead of an answer, the finale of _Swan Lake _began to play, and he shouted, _"No! You will not save them! They have already started down the path! You cannot stop tragedy! You did not even stop it from happening to you, did you?! You are powerless! You cannot save them! YOU CANNOT SAVE THEM!"_

The lights whirled on again, and Swan Lake seemed to have faded before it reached the climax; yet Drosselmeyer knew this wasn't over. Plus, with this extra player, the story would get ten times more interesting. He smirked as he again settled into the rocking chair to view the grand story take place on a grander stage, with a more intricate plot since the last run.

"This_ is going to be interesting."_

-x-

Rue leaped unto the cobblestone streets, and headed towards the nearest patch of forest. Rina was still unconscious, and the shoes of Corvus clacked against the cobblestones, but it was unheard over the violence. People were screaming, and she thought she saw a woman with green hair and a clown-like wardrobe heading off in the opposite direction. As she rode closer to Mytho and Fakir's cabin that they shared with Karon, she saw the blacksmith fighting a man in black, and losing.

But instead of furthering, she reined Corvus in, and he neighed loudly, probably spooked, and she turned him, cutting across a lawn of a cabin that lead straight to the forest.

If it wasn't dark before, it surely was now.

The forest was pitch black, and Rue kept riding, not really knowing where she was going, but just focusing on _away. _She didn't run into the trees, surprisingly, but she was afraid she would have- if not guided by her instincts. Even though she hated them, she did conceive that they were useful sometimes.

A gust of wind chilled her to the bone.

It was starting to get cold… Too cold.

She continued to ride, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a light. Instead of jerking Corvus in another direction this time, she progressively slowed him, and then turned him.

As she slowed, she felt consumed by the darkness. Something was familiar here.

-x-

"_Rue… Rue…" A dark voice called her, trying to get her attention._

_The girl was no more than five, and she was dressed up in a dress of black, and was holding on to a stuffed animal that she named Odile, a black swan- babbling to her friend, even if the animal could not speak back._

"_Rue…" The same voice, though more irritated this time._

_She kept playing with Odile, oblivious… And a ruby necklace swayed on her chest: glistening, more like: the only thing she owned not stained with blood, robbery, and murder. _

_The man dressed in black towered over the girl: he had on black boots, black pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, black leather gloves, a black cap, and a black raccoon mask that showed his deep, dark, cold eyes. His curved nose was perfectly visible, and a light mustache diagonally slashed across his upper lips._

_At his side, he held a sword, and it was not cleaned yet- it was still swimming in blood._

_His upper lip twitched, but the young girl paid him no mind. She was sitting on the cabin floor, not noticing the dead bodies- or the stench- that were peaking out of the doorway of the hallway._

_She was simply playing with her doll, in her home, in the middle of the wood. _

_With sickening patience, the voice spoke again, "Rue, I have a present for you…"_

-x-

She couldn't remember what, though.

Holding her head for a brief second, she tried remembering. A barrage of voices invaded her head.

"_Rue~ _A light, happy voice giggled. Though she didn't recognize it, it felt familiar. She felt the slightest bit intimidated by this character, and she could see why. The voice was so happy, yet so _strong _and laced with grief_… _Yet she didn't truly fear it, she was more wary of the voice. It showed that she wasn't as great as the voice's owner- and that, she _hated. _She hated feeling inferior. But, and this was most strange- she felt a pull to this person, to tell her everything that was wrong with her body, to _confide _in this person…. To confide that she wasn't as beautiful- wasn't as graceful or as silent as she wanted to be…

She had a sort of _bond _with this person, and was afraid of letting her go, letting her be _found out. _And though jealous, she realized that whatever secret this person had, she would keep it 'til the grave. But who was this?!

The next voice interrupted her thoughts, invading her brain, scowling "_Rue." _It was a disapproving, annoyed voice that rolled his eyes, guarding his character, in case she decided to twist him around her little finger. Her fists gathered at her sides as she thought that he was easily manipulated and utterly useless, yet never ceasing to try. Oh yes, she _definitely _recognized the owner of _this _voice: and to that she scowled. _The knight who couldn't even die. _

…She blinked, and her face contorted. Where did that come from? Had she confused him for someone else? Surely… Surely, that voice belonged to Fakir, her greatest enemy. He kept her from Mytho, the one she loved so much. All she wanted was Mytho, all she wanted was his love, and it was okay if he didn't feel anything; it was okay as long as he was _hers… _Fakir could go screw himself for all she cared.

She didn't understand, though, why he disapproved of her so much. What was so bad about her? She had money, eyes for Mytho, cared for him… She just didn't understand.

Maybe it was that they were too alike. Too protective. Too… use- no, she _was _useful. She was useful to Mytho, and that was all that mattered.

"_Rue?" _An unsure voice spoke, eyes empty. His voice was like a broken melody, silently encasing her mind, and guiding her away from bad thoughts while making her heart lurch. All she wanted was to encompass her arms around his small frame, to hold him, erase his bad memories and bad thoughts; help him so that he would be hers, only hers… He wouldn't _need _to remember anything. She liked how he was now. _Mytho…You don't need anyone else but me. I love you, and I'll always love you- even if you become black and empty, just like me…_ _I will love you forever and ever…_

"_Rue!" _A voice, lower in stature than Rue's own, called attention to Rue's behavior: she snapped out of her possessiveness, and her posture stiffened back to the ladylike demeanor she had to be. In the woods, at this moment, she couldn't even tell if Rina was conscious, and yet she turned her mind away. Rina was reminding her who she was- she always kept Rue in check. By forcing her to keep up her façade, Rina was doing her a service. …Right?

"…_Enter the Dark Princess" _This voice gave her chills up her spine, and if she was at home, she would have drawn her legs to her chest and shivered until the voice passed over her, passed by, never to return. For some reason, she knew the voice was referring to her. But where had she heard it? Who did it belong to? How could she make it stop? _It isn't so easy, _another voice cooed inside her head. She shivered as an overwhelming dread took over her.

"_RUE!" _

The voice seemed familiar, and in an anguished cry, jolted her.

She… had never heard such sadness, such fear, such guilt, such _anguish_ in her life. And yet, it rang in her head.

_Where had she heard it before?_

She didn't know. But something… something around here didn't feel right.

She had to get out of here. Something around here felt… sinister. Sinister like an evil god out there, watching her… Making sure that she would screw up, and do so all her life, no matter how hard she tried… She shivered again. This fear, this feeling of _doubt and desperation, _was surely getting into her head. She had to regain her reason.

She had to.

Her fists balled, and knuckles white; she decided she had to find shelter soon. The forest, or rather, her paranoia felt like it was closing in on her, like she couldn't breathe. A strange scent infiltrated her nostrils, a strange, sickening scent that hadn't been there before. Her heart clenched and her stomach knotted into curls and an agonizing pain went through her head.

She lurched, and almost fell off the horse if not for her iron grip on the reins.

She had to find a place for the night. She had to find one soon. Something, something... Something wasn't right here. She needed to leave.

But where would she go?

She couldn't go back to Kinkan… It was dangerous there.

She looked forward, and she saw the light again.

She raced towards it, and could barely see an outline of an old, abandoned cabin.

**This is the first chapter out since my depression message in **_**Muted World **_**and **_**Battle of the Bands. **_**I am doing better, but I am still recovering. I'm also studying for the ACT and the English AP exams, and this update literally took forever for me to finish. **

**This doesn't mean I'll update on a frequent schedule (ha!), it just means that I'm doing better and that I somehow cranked out another chapter. **

**Here are the answers to the reviews!**

**Chapter 1:**

**ExodusARenfield: Thank you. I hope you read this chapter as well. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Lermaniac 4 life: I really do hope this will be your favorite. Thank you so much, and I will try to update soon. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Rebecca: I really do try. As Edel says in chapter two, "Oh, it had seemed so different, but it was still the same." I will try to update the next chapter ASAP. Some of my other stories… Oh, you shouldn't read **_**My Dear Black Kitty. **_**That one needs to be re-written. **_**The Game **_**is meh too. Everything else you are okay to read. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Guest: Thank you, and thanks for reviewing!**

**Fahiru- I invented that- but, as a child and even now, I really do love fairytales. I did take a little from the original **_**Little Mermaid, **_**but most of it is to suit my own purposes. Again, I try to keep the same premise of the characters- keep them the same, yet utterly different. Yeah, I do need to go back and fix some of the wording. I really do like Neko-sensei- just as I like pretty much every character the anime expands upon. Literally every single one is a work of art: and I'm so jealous of Ikuto Itoh that I can't even express it. I've researched pretty much every single episode of Tutu along with the music pieces (and found out some very interesting things) when I read your suggestion. I was going to do so anyway, because with any AU, I do it with as much depth as possible. Actually, I always like reading long reviews, it wasn't about nothing! Thank you for reviewing!**

**Chapter 2: **

**Lermaniac 4 life: Good to hear from you again. Thank you for your praise, but I'm always improving. I know lots of fanfiction writers who are incredibly talented, so if you ever want any recommendations, PM me. Thanks for reviewing!**

**K-chan's Kisses: Thank you, and thanks for reviewing!**

**Yeah: I will continue, don't worry. Thanks for reviewing!**

…**All in all, it's been quite a chapter. Rue has lots of things going on, and I really do like her. Many people don't like her in the fandom, and I just can't understand why. **

**Though I do love Fakir and Ahiru (very much), I also love Rue and Mytho (he had depth, but at the same time no depth which was frankly amazing). **

**Thanks for reading, and please review if you can!**


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